And now I knowSpanish Harlem are not just pretty words to sayI thought I knewBut know I know that rose trees never growIn New York City

Until you've seen this trash can dream come trueYou stand at the edge while people run you throughAnd I thank the lord There's people out there like youI thank the lord there's people out there like you

While Mona Lisas and Mad HattersSons of bankers, sons of lawyersTurn around and say good morning to the nightFor unless they see the skyBut they can't and that is whyThey know not if it's dark outside or light